Shadow Dancer
by Bittah
Summary: The story of Phantom, one who lives in the shadows, dancing from one piece of information to the next to make a living.
1. Prologue

Alright everyone. This is the prologue to my new fic. Everyone should be proud of me. Although it is vague, I think it sets a wonderful mood for the fic. Now please review… and bug me online if you must to write more! And without further ado… the Disclaimer.

_Disclaimer: All characters from Newsies belong to Disney and all the characters that are not mine belong to those who have so graciously lent them to me. _

**Prologue:**

"Theodore!" the deep voice of his father called loudly across the small, dirty flat. The small boy appeared, looking both feeble and mischievous at once. His skin was dark in contrast to his father's pale Irish skin and it was obvious he was of gypsy blood from his matching dark features.

"Tell me what you have done now…" the stern voice came again, making Theodore shiver.

"But Pa…" Theodore whined.

"No excuses lad. I'm going to beat you into becoming a decent young lad, even if it kills me!" his father bellowed.

"It was only for fun Pa, I swear. I didn't mean no harm by it, honestly!" he said, looking towards the ground after admitting his guilt.

"You better learn respect for woman lad or I'll belt you good until you leave this house! You're mother gave her life to bring your lousy ass into this world and you will learn to treat every woman with the same respect your mother deserves!" his father yelled, pulling the belt out of his pants, the sound of the motion making the boy wince. "That includes Mrs. McNally next door. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Theodore kept his eyes on the ground and turned, bending over to receive his punishment for his childish pranks on the stingy old woman next door.

The hard whip of the belt against his back stung and brought tears to his eyes. The longer he kept his cries in, the more his father would beat him, but he never screamed. Not once. Not even at seven years of age.

It wasn't long before poverty killed Theodore's only kin. The boy was out on the streets at the age of ten, sleeping in alleyways and using newspapers as blankets. Already he had learned to blend in with his surroundings and keep himself out of trouble. That much he owed to his father. Unfortunately the trouble of having gypsy blood was that someone would eventually realize what he was:

"A goddamn no good gypsy," the husky man slurred late at night, having kicked the boy awake and pulled him to his feet to the amusement of his drunken friends. "That's what you are and what you'll always be! I once fucked a girl of your blood, no good hussie stole my goddamn money and ruined my goddamn reputation. You all ain't nothing but a bunch of low down, no good thieves and liars! Now get off my goddamn block before I kill your ass…"

Theodore was shoved hard toward the edge of the alley and he barely had the strength to push himself off before the man had stumbled forward towards him and began to kick him furiously in the side. "Get off my damn block you worthless shit!" he growled as the boy fell back onto the sidewalk.

Never saying a word, the small boy managed to stand on his own two feet finally and ran off, grabbing at his side. He had barely even let out one groan of pain and didn't dare make such a noise until he was a few blocks away, gasping for air as he took solace in a nearby alley.

"Hey kid…" a voice called out to him further down in the depths of the alley. At first all Theodore could make out was the orange butt of a cigarette glowing a few yards away. "Come here…" the voice urged with such command to it he felt no choice but to do as he said.

The voice belonged to a blonde haired boy around his age, or even younger, that was slimmer than his own starved frame, but there was a demand of respect in the boy's blue eyes. "You alright kid?" the boy asked, gazing straight at Theodore without fear, without even concern, simply with interest.

Theodore nodded his head slightly, holding the fair haired boy's eyes without even blinking.

"When's the last time you ate?" the other boy asked with a small grin of respect coming over his light features. "My guess is you've barely been eating all week…Well I got a way we can get you some food and in return you can help me out. How does that sound kid?" he asked, eying the guy and sizing him up.

Theodore nodded a bit and his companion smiled broadly. "Don't talk much do you?" he asked, pulling out a small piece of bread and handing it to him.

Again another movement of the head, this time to signal that he indeed did not talk much and he took the bread silently, eating it quickly all the while his attention on the boy in front of him. "How can I help you?" he finally ventured, his voice already deep for his age and weary sounding.

"By listening… you'll be my ears and I'll make sure me and you are taken care of … Deal?" the boy spat in his hand and held it out.

"Don't even know your name…" it was more a comment than an excuse.

"They call me Spot… Spot Conlon…" his hand was still outstretched and he gazed at him waiting for him to reveal his name as well.

Theodore simply spit in his hand and shook the boy's hand. "Deal…" he said, not really knowing what he was getting himself into, but figuring it was better than starving on the streets by himself.

"What should I call you?" Spot ventured, pulling his hand back and looking over the boy.

Theodore shrugged without a word.

"Phantom… that's what you'll go by… you've got a dark and haunting presence to you... like a phantom…" Spot smiled broadly as the boy nodded his approval.

Their agreement was left at that and the rest is now a very long and strange history.

Seven years passed and once again the two boys found themselves standing in the same alley they had first met in. It was closing in on midnight and the cold chills of night made both of them shiver. Phantom had grown to be a few inches taller than Spot, closing in on six feet and his dark unnatural demeanor had not changed a bit. That included his discretion to rarely speak.

Phantom had changed over the years from a gangly starving boy to a lean muscular man and his gypsy roots showed in his dark features and olive colored skin. His hair was longer and more unkempt than men normally wore their hair, but he didn't care to cut it, instead tying it up and keeping it under a black cap when he was out in public. Although Phantom came across as mysterious and gloomy he had a strange talent of blending in with his surroundings and his personality and demeanor also lacked in dominant authority. Even though he was a year older than Spot, he demanded no command or respect and instead took orders from the leader of Brooklyn. It was incredible the way that Spot commanded and dominated everyone so well when he was one of the youngest newsies in Brooklyn. Unlike Phantom, he was born to be a leader, no one could deny that.

"You've done well," Spot finally spoke, his usual cold eyes filled with something close to resembling happiness.

"We both still have a long way to go…" Phantom's voice was cryptic and his mood never changing from the emotionless void along with his dark near black eyes.

"I've employed you for seven years now Phantom…" Spot began. "I've moved up in the world and you've never asked for more, for something else to do with your life…"

Phantom interrupted him by putting his hand up. "I enjoy my work…" but there was nothing in his voice and expression that showed enjoyment. If Spot had not known the boy in front of him all these years, he would have found the comment sarcastic or even insulting. Seven years and not once had he seen Phantom reveal an ounce of emotion.

"I have to get back to Medda's…" Spot said, knowing they would meet again in the next few days whenever Phantom decided to drop in with valuable information. "Do you…"

Phantom shook his head and turned to leave. "Congratulations…" he said, pausing to look back for a moment. That day had been one of triumph, the day the street rat nobodies had made a change in the world.

Spot's gaze was heavy upon Phantom as he replied, "You helped it all happen…"

Dark eyes glimmered back at him and if Spot didn't know any better, he'd say there was a hint of a smile on Phantom's lips. Of course, Spot Conlon knew better and with a blink of the eye, the shadow boy was gone.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Cynic had started the fight. The blonde haired girl had been bickering with a thuggish looking man until he had taken the first swing, long after everyone had expected him to break. Her lean, pale body shifted downwards, avoiding the punch as her black skirt billowed out around her body. The two girls that had been sitting with her moved quickly to her side.

The first had auburn hair tied up in a hap-hazardous manner and her navy blue eyes grew wide as a grin crossed her face. Without another thought, she pummeled the man with her fists, connecting with his abdomen multiple times before he could even block, his height putting her at a slight advantage. Caught off guard, the man fell to his knees with a painful groan and Maverick let out a drunken laugh.

The other girl stepped in front of a pair of the man's friends who stood quickly from their seats. She said something low and seductive, putting her hands on her hips and batting her doe brown eyes. A grin spread across her face as the two men looked at each other and considered whatever she had said. Of course, they were sprawled on the ground a moment later, a combined effort by the sexy, yet lethal girl named Hades and her dear friend Maverick. They lay spread out across the ground at the feet of the two girls, panting and groaning in pain.

Phantom never interfered with fights; he was only an observer in a world of constant warfare. If things heated up enough, he left. But these types of fights were rarely heated enough for the Brooklynites involved. He watched as the three girls, a good foot or two shorter than the three men they had taken on, stood their ground and proceeded to chase the three men out of the bar with hoots and laughter.

He shook his head slightly, stood up without a sound and strode past them unnoticed. He heard their words perfectly as he passed, closing his eyes as he pushed the door to the bar open and memorized them.

_"Cynic, you just don't know when to stop, do you? Wait until Conlon finds out… he's going to split a gut!"_

-------

Phantom rubbed his eyes and looked up as the first signs of light spread across the horizon. He didn't care what Spot was doing in the whorehouse he was perched on the rooftop of. What he cared about was staying awake long enough to ensure his job was done properly.

His dark eyes narrowed as he looked from one alleyway to the next. Without relaxing, he settled back on the roof and remained alert. Lately, his mind only drifted to the events of the night, playing them over and over.

Hearing the squeak of the front door opening, Phantom stood silently and made his way down the fire escape without so much as a deep breath to reveal he was there. A girl with wavy and thick black hair opened the door, her green eyes half closed with dark bag under her eyes. Her corset-framed body slid out of view as Spot appeared in the doorway.

Phantom waited until the door closed to reveal himself at Spot's side. The boy's brown hair was ruffled, his clothing slightly off and a bit of a smirk planted on his face. Irish Flare was Spot's favorite whore, any other night he seemed like he always did, even after a long visit. Irish was the one who put Spot off a bit, made him seem like a goofy little kid. If Phantom didn't know better, he would've surmised that they had a bit more of a relationship than just a whore and her customer.

But he knew better.

------

Phantom's tanned body lay sprawled across the worn mattress, his eyes closed until the last traces of light left his room darkened. Not more than a minute passed before the dark of his eyes sparkled in what little moonlight trickled through the one high window. His body stretched soundlessly, only the mattress creaking as his weight shifted gracefully from it and to his feet.

Bending down, he retrieved a semi-clean pair of worn clothes, both shirt and pants black. Making his way to the washbasin, he threw some cold water on his face and used the dingy towel to dry it off.

Sitting down on the loan, rickety chair, he pulled on his shoes, which we're less worn than his clothing. He looked around the apartment, memorizing where everything was. There was a reason Phantom hadn't objected to Spot's thoughts on having him live outside the lodging house, and that was privacy.

Although the apartment was small and decrepit, it served him well as a place to sleep. All hours he spent awake, he spent working. As a child he had rarely known the pleasure of "playing" and even less so as he had grown into a young man. He liked his isolation from the world and thrived in working the way he did.

He grabbed the little food that he had bought a few days earlier and gulped it down before heading out. There was no lock for his door, nonetheless a key and so he simply shut the door and went out into the night.

-----

Nights later, the young man found himself in Manhattan. Lately it seemed as though Spot was constantly sending him there. This night was different though, even the air felt different as he had exited the small apartment complex in which he resided. The air was cool and soothing, almost sweet to breathe in.

It was that night when he saw her, the young gypsy girl with her bright blue eyes and dark features. That night changed everything for him and slowly a feeling of warmth had overcome him and made him breathe deeper.

She was at the lodging house, doing nothing more than sitting and talking. Scattered girls surrounded her, all of them uninteresting to him, a few which he recognized easily. Hush sat in the bunk above her, her golden blonde hair falling into her face as she looked lost in thought, her green eyes clouded. Phantom knew the things that had gone wrong in Manhattan and why the girls there looked so troubled.

Desperately, Phantom tried to keep his eyes on anyone but the new girl, the gypsy girl. Illusion came into view, her sharp icy blue eyes looking over the gypsy girl with concern. Her long chestnut hair swayed back and forth in its ponytail as she shook her head, placing her hands on her hips and saying something inaudible to Phantom's ears. The freckles on her nose wrinkled as the girl simply looked away from Illusion, her lips pressed tightly together.

Intrigue filled Phantom's mind. _What had happened to this girl and why was she here, in Manhattan?_ He tore himself away to find out, looking at her once more, memorizing her looks, the way she held herself, everything he could gather about her. Then he went in search of more information.

What he found out about her hurt him more than he would ever admit, not that he had anyone to admit such things to. Her name was Gip and he found that now he could not keep his mind off of her.

After doing some pertinent work for the evening, Phantom headed back to Brooklyn. He hoped to be back at his apartment before sunrise. He soon found his thoughts consumed by Gip, the beautiful, jaded gypsy girl. So consumed by these thoughts, he found that he was no longer alone in the side alley he had taken. They had surrounded him before he could even think of how to escape.

Phantom had never been a fighter, even though Spot had tried to teach him, time and again. He did the one thing he could do: duck and cover. Crouched and with his hands over his head, he waited for the first blows to rain down upon him.


End file.
